Floral Farewell
by flapjacku
Summary: Christine's illness dosen't seem to be getting any better.


"Faster papa!"

Linnea raced through the hallway, tripping over her own feet in her eagerness. Erik rushed towards her, but stopped when she giggled and brushed herself off as she stood up. Linnea skipped the rest of the way to her intended destination and gently knocked on the wooden door.

Erik had caught up to her by the time she turned the door handle and pushed the door open. "Hello mama." She called softly.

Christine sat up slowly in the bed and smiled. " _Mon ange_."

Linnea skipped over to the bed and sat down on the edge, gently reaching over and embracing her mother. Erik moved into the room and stood on the other side of the bed.

"You won't believe what happened today mama!" Linnea beamed leaning back from Christine to look her in the eyes. "Papa and I went to the park, and there was a massive rose garden; It was _so_ pretty. There were roses of every colour: red, pink, white, and even yellow! I had never even _seen_ a yellow rose before mama, it was lovely."

She fluttered her dark lashes, drawing attention to her golden eyes and giggled. "They were the same colour as my eyes. I brought you on back as a gift." Linnea pulled the rose back from behind her ear (each thorn thoughtfully removed) and presented it to her mother. She grabbed Christine's frail hand with her free hand and whispered, "I wish you could have seen the garden."

"Me too my dear… we'll just have to go back one day," Christine crooned before breaking off into a cough.

Erik placed his hand gently on her shoulder, his voice shaking, "Christine, my love, are you alright?"

Christine's coughing eventually faded, enough for her to weakly murmur to her daughter. "May I... have a glass of water?"

Linnea jumped to her feet, "Of course mama, I-I'll get if for you." Her young face twisting into a determined frown. Christine gazed at her daughter fondly, feeling slightly regretful that she had never made the effort of teaching her own daughter her maiden tongue. The only Swedish part of Linnea, it seemed, was her mother and her name. Erik had insisted that she at least have a Swedish name, which Christine had happily (and somewhat gratefully) complied.

Christine waited until Linnea had run out of the room before she turned to Erik, "My love, I fear I haven't much time left."

Grabbing her hands in his, he choked back a sob, "Don't say that... Don't ever say that Christine!"

"Promise me you'll remain strong for Linn… and for yourself too." She reached a shaky, frail hand up to cup his cheek. Her thinness now rivalling his own skeletal frame.

"Don't…. you're going to be fine, you're going to get better Christine, I promise!" Erik's vision began to blur as tears welled up in his eyes.

Christine gently shook her head. She had accepted for a while now that her condition wasn't going to get better. Consumption, it seemed, had no current cure.

"It's going to be f—" She broke off with a violent coughing fit that shook her entire frame.

Erik could only stare helplessly at her and wait for the fit to pass. "I'm here, I'm here." He whispered.

Christine dropped her head back against the pillows, exhausted. "Thank you Erik." She weakly smiled before here eyelids fluttered shut.

He mirrored her earlier action and stroked her cheek with his hand. How long had it been now, since she had been bedridden?

 _She won't die. She won't._ He mouthed to himself.

Erik glanced to the doorway to see Linnea standing there grasping a glass of water with a white-knuckled grip. "Thank you my dear, just leave that on the bedside table."

She nodded and placed it down gently. Bending over, Linnea placed a warm kiss on Christine's forehead, "Good night mama. Please get better soon." She whispered the last part, in an attempt to reassure both her mother and herself. She repeated the action with Erik, murmuring a soft _Good night papa,_ before slowly making her way back over to the doorway. Glancing over her shoulder she smiled, before closing the door after her.

 _Seven. The same age Christine was when she herself went through this very ordeal with her father._ Erik thought grimly. He gently pried the rose from Christine's fingers and placed it next to the glass. Turning back to Christine, he lets his eyes wander over the once so familiar face. Her cheekbones protruded, emphasising now hollowed cheeks, and dark rings around her eyes highlighted her weariness. Erik could only slump in his chair, the feeling of helplessness nearly overwhelming.

There was nothing he could do.

The very thought was enough to drive him to despair, his Christine was dying and there was _nothing he could do_ to help her. Not bothering to wipe at the tears that now trailed down his own hollow cheeks, Erik slowly rose from his chair.

He pulled the bed covers back and gently settled himself in next to his frail wife. He turned on his side, facing Christine, and gingerly grasped her hand in his. "Sweet dreams my love." He brought their clasped hands to his lips and bestowed a gentle kiss upon the back of hers.

She hummed quietly in response, already half-asleep.

Erik's gaze never left his beloved's face, bathed in the pale moonlight streaming through the gap in the curtains.

"I love you," He whispered.

xxx

Erik blearily opened his eyes; He hadn't remembered ever drifting off to sleep. He felt his stomach drop and his breath hitch as Christine's hand, once so full of warmth, was now stone cold in his own.

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A/N:based on the prompt _flower_

feel free to request a prompt on my tumblr


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